Larry Brody’s Poetry: ‘A Recurring Dream’

Found on the interwebs

by Larry Brody


The Navajo Dog is sitting this one out, and my subconscious has replaced magic this time around. Or has it? (Warning: This sucker looks longer than it really is.

A Recurring Dream

A Recurring Dream

I have a recurring dream. I’m a scout

For a tribe of primitives seeking a

New home. Sometimes we’re Celts, sometimes

Native Americans, sometimes even aliens on

Another planet. Always, I’m ahead of the group,

Walking across flat land. Sometimes I reach the

Sea, where a huge rock rears up just offshore.

Sometimes I reach a rocky mesa, or

A grassy plateau. Always, I know that

This tall formation with almost vertical sides

And a smooth, flat top is the place my people

Need. Always, I know that at the top (where

I can’t see) is a stretch of land perfect for our

Crops and our homes.

Always, though, I have to make sure. I start

Climbing, looking for handholds, struggling and

Scraping, tearing my clothing (if I wear any)

And my skin. Always, the top is farther than

It appeared, and I have to climb, and climb,

Growing more and more tired. My cuts throb,

And my muscles ache, but never do I stop,

Or even slow, because I know, by the time

I’m halfway up, that the one I love waits—


Up above. I can’t see her, or hear her,

But I’m certain she’s there, and I know

She’s waiting,

Waiting for me.

I grow weaker, and lose my grip, almost

Falling, then catch myself just in time.

I call out to the one I love,

But she doesn’t reply.

Sometimes at this point in the dream

I turn and look back where I came

From, and when I do, invariably—


I fall! I roll head over heels, and

Plummet downward, my stomach

Knotting with fear, and the knowledge of

Certain death. Whenever I fall—


I hit the sea, or the ground, with

Enough force to feel my spine snap,

My head crack, and I die.

Above me waits the salvation of my people,

Above me waits my love…but I die.

Sometimes, though, at this point in the dream,

I keep my eyes forward, going onward,

Only onward,

And I stay on the side of the rock.

But even then, no matter how long I keep

Climbing, eventually I wake before

Reaching the top.

Above me waits the salvation of my people,

Above me waits my love… but I wake.

That’s it. That’s my dream. I’ve

Had it for years. Dream books and therapists

Probably can tell me its meaning. All

I need do, I’m sure, is ask.

But to me interpretation is only sometimes,

While—always!—I must climb.

Larry Brody is the head dood at TVWriter™. He is posting at least one poem a week here at TVWriter™ because, as the Navajo Dog herself once pointed out, “Art has to be free. If you create it for money, you lose your vision, and yourself.” She said it shorter, though, with just a snort.